


The Elemental Suite

by whitefang (radialarch)



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: 221Bs, Science, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-20
Updated: 2013-02-20
Packaged: 2017-11-29 22:02:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 1,547
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/691969
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/radialarch/pseuds/whitefang
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock, John, and their lives through a periodic table.</p><p>Written for a <a href="http://sherlockbbc.livejournal.com/5359386.html?thread=39015706#t39015706">prompt</a> asking for a series of 221Bs around the seven elements starting with B.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Beryllium (Be, 4)

**Author's Note:**

> So this prompt appeals to me on like a thousand different levels; but this is probably more fun to write than to read?

There are emeralds on the sitting room floor, hundreds of them, hard and glittering. Sherlock sprawls among them on his stomach, a jeweller's glass between one eye and the gem in front of his nose.

"What the _hell_ ," John says. Not a question; not even an expression of surprise, because he's used to this by now, coming home to find that Sherlock has let a case take over the flat like it's an extension of his mind.

"Don't touch anything," Sherlock says, almost absently. "I'd rather not have to look at everything twice."

"You remember every—of course you do," John says, and pulls up a hard-backed chair from the kitchen to watch Sherlock work. "Why have you robbed a jewellery shop?"

"It's a question of inventory," Sherlock says. "What does it mean when there are more gems in a locked vault in the morning than there were the previous night?"

"That someone's rubbish at counting?"

That earns John a fond roll of Sherlock's eyes, and then they're silent until Sherlock, with a triumphant _aha_ , reaches out with long, precise fingers and holds up a small emerald to the light.

"Allow me to present the missing jewel from the beryl coronet."

"What, from that murder-robbery?"

"Exactly." His grin is very sharp. "Two men dead, and all for a crystal of beryllium."


	2. Boron (B, 5)

"There are ants in the kitchen, Sherlock. _Ants_. Probably attracted to that honey experiment you're doing — what _are_ you doing with that?"

"Are there?" Sherlock asks with interest. "There's an experiment I've been meaning to do."

"You can't just take this as an _opportunity_ —" John starts, exasperated, but of course he can, and of course he would. "Fine." John throws his hands up in the air. "Fine. But you're cleaning up afterwards."

*

When John looks in the kitchen again, Sherlock has his eye to the ocular of a microscope, a lab-book tilted on his knee and a well-bitten pen tapping at the page. The sun is slanting through the kitchen window, landing on the table in distorted shapes, and over them crawl neat lines of black.

"Look at them, John," Sherlock says, utterly rapt. "Their system of communication; much more developed than our talking, with _words_ and meaning and inevitable misinterpretation."

"Sure, but you don't see giant ants looking at _us_ through microscopes, so if it's all the same I'd rather be a person, thanks."

Sherlock hums. "I do quite like you this way."

"What?" John says, startled.

"Yes," Sherlock smiles, and pushes a bottle into John's hand before walking out of the kitchen.

"Okay," John says slowly. He looks down at his hand, his thumb brushing over the word _boron_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cheating slightly; it's actually boric acid that's effective as an insecticide.


	3. Bromine (Br, 35)

Sherlock's bought a dozen rolls of film and a camera. "Taking up a new hobby?" John asks. "Developing your artistic side, are you?"

"Oh, John, do use some sense," Sherlock says. "I can't very well infiltrate a photographer's club if I don't know anything about photography, can I?" He puts up blackout curtains on his bedroom window, a makeshift darkroom, and soon there are photographs everywhere, pinned fluttering on the wall or tossed carelessly across the floor.

"I like this one," John says, gazing closely at the round body of a bee in black and white, the scatter of pollen on its hind leg. "It's very nice. Do you mind if I keep it?"

"It's not meant to be  _nice_ ," Sherlock says, but he doesn't protest when John slips the photo into his pocket.

*

In the end, the murderous photographer is caught after a wild chase, and afterwards Sherlock and John stagger into the flat to collapse bonelessly on the sofa.

"So, I suppose you'll stop with the photographs now," John says, a bit wistfully. "Some of them were quite good, you know."

It takes John a moment to realise Sherlock's mumbling words into the cushions. "You never watched them develop," he says, "and that was the most beautiful part. Bees and blood and bone, sharpening from just silver and bromine…"


	4. Barium (Ba, 56)

"You—want to go to the fireworks display? Why the sudden fit of patriotism?"

"Don't be ridiculous. I really don't care if a man blows up the House of Lords — or fails to," Sherlock scowls. "It's for a case."

"The man with the back of his head bashed in?"

"Precisely. The suspect claims he couldn't have sneaked up behind the victim because he was limping; the victim would have heard him. The victim, however, had been setting off fireworks earlier in the day; so arises the question of how long a fireworks-induced hearing impairment might last."

"All right, then," John says. "There's always the one at Battersea."

*

The display is well underway, firework after firework screaming upwards to explode in a fiery burst of colour. "Wow," John breathes, almost involuntarily. "That's—"

"—only a chemical and physical reaction," Sherlock finishes, his voice low and close to John's ear. " _Focus_ , John. How well can you hear me?"

"Um, fine," John clears his throat. "Perfectly well."

"Excellent," Sherlock says, straightening up again. His fingers are barely touching John's sleeve.

"Hang on," John says as another firework lights the sky a deep green. "The case—"

"The victim wore ear protection," Sherlock says nonchalantly.

"So this was, what, an elaborate plan for—"

"Shh," Sherlock says. "Did you know, the green sparks come from traces of barium—"


	5. Bismuth (Bi, 83)

Flecks of paint at the scene of the crime; a green-painted ladder in front of them both, tagged as evidence.

"No," Sherlock says, "no, something's wrong, I'm missing something. But what?"

"So, you don't think it was the brother?" John frowns.

Sherlock is pacing back and forth; his coat flares dramatically out behind him. "It could be the brother," he finally admits, coming to a stop to peer closely at the bottom of the ladder. "But he would have put away the ladder after the crime, not left it out in plain sight. So, why would anyone…"

"So then what exactly do you think this is?" John demands. "A…decoy?"

"I'll have to run some tests," Sherlock snaps decisively. He peers at the tabletop underneath the ladder and brushes off a few paint chips that have fallen off.

"Right, then," John says as Sherlock strides off to the laboratory. "I'll just…wait here, shall I?"

*

"Come on, John!" The shout floats down the hallway before Sherlock does. "Yes, someone is trying to frame our suspect."

"What, so that's not…the same ladder?"

"No," Sherlock says cheerfully. "The paint from the scene is too old. Or our ladder's too young."

"How do you tell if paint's  _too old_?"

"Simple. Paint from the scene contains traces of lead. The ladder? Not lead.  _Bismuth_."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bismuth is surprisingly non-toxic for a heavy metal, and is a safe(r?) alternative to lead in paints.


	6. Berkelium (Bk, 97)

Mycroft comes by the flat with a severe expression and a folder in a briefcase, and talks to Sherlock in an unyielding voice. Ten minutes later, a black car departs and Sherlock shouts up the stairs, "John, we're going to America!"

"America?" John repeats. "What the hell's in America?"

"The Lawrence Berkeley Laboratory."

John blinks. "Hang on,  _what_?"

*

The weather is cloudless and calm in Berkeley. Sherlock narrows his eyes against the sun, but John takes a moment to savour the warmth.

"So, Mycroft must have promised you something ridiculous," John says as he follows Sherlock inside. "What exactly are we doing here?"

"Just think of it as a holiday," Sherlock says with a shrug. "The case shouldn't be particularly taxing, but Mycroft would insist on being tiresome — something about national security…"

"National security?  _Here_?"

"Mr Holmes? Mr Watson?" A woman in glasses and a white lab coat approaches them with an uncertain expression. "I understand you're here to investigate the, well—"

"Yes." Sherlock flashes an ID.

"Ah." Her face clears. "All right, I'll take you two to the director."

"So, what is this place?" John asks as they wait in front of a lift.

"Well, it was originally founded as the radiation laboratory for the university," she starts. "Quite a few transuranium elements have been discovered here: neptunium, plutonium, berkelium…"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> LBL actually does unclassified research, so matters of national security are extremely unlikely to arise here. Shh.


	7. Bohrium (Bh, 107)

"Why isn't Lestrade calling?" Sherlock groans from the sofa.

"Because he doesn't need you?" John offers, settled comfortably in his chair. "Never mind," he grins when Sherlock shoots him a wounded look. "Well, it could be the fact that you've turned down the last four cases he's offered, because they were, quote,  _boring_."

"Well, they were!" Sherlock insists. "Why can't murderers be more imaginative?"

"I'm sure a case worthy of your attention will come up soon," John soothes. "In the meantime, I like having a quiet evening now and then."

Sherlock scoffs, but stays silent when John turns his eyes to the paper.

*

Half an hour later, Sherlock's leaning over the back of John's chair to point at the page. "Seven down, it's—"

"You don't even  _like_  crosswords," John complains, snatching the paper out of the way.

"Even the crossword is marginally less boring than doing nothing," he huffs. "Besides, you've been staring at that line for several minutes now. Clearly you don't know the answer."

"Okay, fine," John says. "Just one clue, all right? And then go, I don't know, practise your violin, or blow up something."

"Dull," Sherlock waves.

"Too bad. Oh, what about this one?" John taps the boxes with one finger. "Seven letters, starts with B. 'Formerly 107, now named after a Dane'."

"Ah," Sherlock says. "Bohrium."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So much cheating /o\ But really, how does one incorporate an element with a half-life of 61 seconds into fic?


End file.
